


Wireless

by avoidingavoidance



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anal Fingering, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Season 7 Spoilers, Spoilers, i think??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-28 11:31:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15706350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avoidingavoidance/pseuds/avoidingavoidance
Summary: In which Lance and Shiro decide to test just how well Shiro's new arm works when it's further away from his body. While Shiro is in a boring meeting.(S7 SPOILERS)





	Wireless

When she’d first introduced Shiro to his new arm, Allura had been rather proud of herself. For good reason, too; aside from freaking out and maybe trying to kill him a little that first few minutes, this thing is absolutely incredible. The alloy it’s made of is flexible and forgiving, but still surprisingly strong and light, and it can maintain a stable connection to him from a borderline ridiculous range. 

It may look unusual, but Shiro’s new prosthetic feels more like a real arm than the Galra one ever did. For the first time in a long time, he feels like his arm is actually a part of him.

There’s also the fact that it’s insanely sensitive.

He can feel _everything_ with this new arm, even when it’s across the room from him. Texture, temperature, pressure, where it’s positioned in relation to his body... everything.

As helpful as that is, and human as it feels, Shiro’s not sure yet whether that’s a blessing or a curse.

\--

Being captain of the Atlas comes with some decent perks. 

It comes with quite a lot of paperwork, too, but Shiro’s been in the military long enough that that barely fazes him. Writing up endless reports doesn’t suck as much when he has an entire captain’s quarters to himself to do it, big and comfortable enough that it’s more like a small apartment than anything else. It’s close to the bridge, too, which leaves him readily accessible to the crew whenever they need him.

Informal meetings in Shiro’s living room have become fairly common. Nothing too major, usually. Some low-priority status reports here and there, checking in with the crew and making sure they’re happy, that sort of thing. He has two couches, for god’s sake, he’s gotta use them somehow.

Tonight, he’s starting to wonder if he should put a curfew on his open-door policy.

He’d been pretty solidly in the middle of a _very_ informal meeting in his bedroom with his husband when he’d gotten a ping from Iverson. He’d wanted to decline, ask to reschedule, but Lance had snickered and told him to go do his job.

Shiro had glanced between them, raising a critical eyebrow, and Lance had just laughed again, then absolutely _purred,_ “You don’t need it to go over status reports, do you? Just leave it here.” That sultry tone is cheating and Lance knows it, but when it comes to Shiro, Lance rarely ever plays fair.

So Shiro left his hand in the bedroom.

And now it’s haunting him.

He’s sitting in his living room with Iverson, Allura, and a scaly rebellion engineer named Vakarian, resisting the urge to bounce his leg, despite his rising impatience. Vakarian has been doing nothing but calibrations on the Atlas’s weapons systems for like three months, it’s the least Shiro can do to listen to his progress, dry as it may be. Allura’s there on Hunk’s behalf, seeing as he’s been Slav’s newest hostage for a few days, and since Iverson’s in charge of the weapons systems on the bridge, he kind of has to be here too, although it’s barely been five minutes and he already looks like he’s about to die of boredom. 

Vakarian pauses to dig around his datapad for some numbers from his calibrations, and while Shiro would love to use that brief time to think about something else (like the soft, warm thighs he can feel on either side of his mechanical wrist), Iverson turns to him before he can. “Say, Shirogane, where’s that fancy arm of yours? Making you a sandwich in the mess hall?”

Shiro panics a little, but quickly forces himself to look casual again, laughing easily. “No, but that’s a good idea,” he says convincingly. “It’s just, uh, charging. In the other room.”

Yeah. Charging.

Iverson grunts, apparently satisfied, but Allura, who built the damn thing and knows for a fact that it does not need to charge ever, narrows her eyes at him. Before she can ask any questions, Shiro gives her a subtle, pleading expression, and thankfully, she knows him well enough to save her question for later, albeit not without a little sulking. 

Even though it’s probably a terrible idea, Vakarian is still fighting with his own organizational system, so Shiro leans back in his seat and focuses on his hand in the other room. It’s still slick with lube from earlier, so the languid slide of his big fist up and down Lance’s aching cock is smooth and easy. He can feel Lance touching his wrist, holding on and petting him encouragingly, and god, the new arm is so sensitive he can even feel his husband’s hands trembling slightly as he guides Shiro’s thick metal fingers away from his arousal and down between his thighs.

This thing is fucking amazing, and it’s absolutely going to be the death of Shiro someday.

Just as he presses one finger into Lance, who is just loose enough, just wet enough that he must have already opened himself up on two of his own fingers while Shiro was still stroking him, Vakarian finds the figure he’d been looking for with a triumphant sound. 

“Apologies, Captain,” he says, dragging Shiro’s attention back to the meeting. “As I was saying, if we adjust the overheat safeguards just a little...”

The engineer drones on for a while. Shiro kind of hears what he’s saying, but the fact that Lance is taking his finger so well now is extremely distracting. He’s slick and hot, and he can feel so damn perfectly how tight Lance is around him, the way he squeezes and wriggles when Shiro hits him just right. He might be moaning and gasping, too, but seeing as there’s a meeting not twenty feet away from him, Shiro can imagine Lance slapping one hand over his mouth, biting into his palm to keep his voice down as Shiro buries his finger deep and crooks it teasingly.

Lance’s thighs twitch on either side of Shiro’s forearm, then fall open again, his hips arching up into the next slow, deep thrust of his finger. So eager. Shiro wants both of his hands on him, touching him and pleasing him and earning those sweet little moans of his name—

“Shiro, what do you think?”

Oh god.

Shiro sucks on his lips and raises his eyebrows at Allura. She’s waiting expectantly for him to answer her question, and he has to pretend to mull it over for a moment while he desperately tries to remember what they’d been talking about.

“Uh.” Oh, right, overheat safeguards and rerouting excess energy. Got it. He sits up and clears his throat. “Do we really need the extra energy? It can’t be that much of a loss, right?”

“I suppose not, no,” Vakarian admits, flicking between reports. “I’m talking purely in terms of efficiency. Don’t get me wrong, Altean technology has always been the pinnacle of efficiency, but these are just some micro-adjustments that can be made to your Terran tech.”

Still pretending he’s not entirely distracted, Shiro bites his lip idly and picks up the pace with his finger. He already has Lance squirming, but god, he wants his husband brainless for him, twitching and gasping and desperate. More than that, he wants this meeting to be over with already so he can go back into their room and fuck Lance straight into the mattress.

“It doesn’t sound all that dangerous,” Iverson says, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Allura leans forward, tilting her head so she can look at one of Vakarian’s diagrams. While she’s asking the engineer some questions, Shiro does his best to look entirely neutral while, in the other room, he slowly pulls his finger out of Lance, who arches up after it, probably with a pouty little whine. Adorable. He pats around the sheets for a moment, wishing he could see what the hell he’s doing, before Lance has mercy on him and grabs his wrist. He pulls Shiro’s hand closer, then slicks his first two fingers with more lube, his own hands still shaking with arousal, with excitement.

Shiro slides his hand back down, grateful as always that he knows Lance’s body so damn well as he sinks his finger back into him. Lance’s thighs squeeze around his wrist, his hips twitching up, before they shift apart again to give him room. He gives him a few deep, teasing thrusts, waiting until Lance melts for him before he starts rubbing the second finger against him.

Lance is so pliant for him, so eager for his affection that even though these new fingers are much thicker than the old ones, he still manages to relax enough that Shiro can fit both fingers inside him. He’s tight, so Shiro moves slowly, filling him up in gentle, forgiving thrusts until he can feel Lance’s wet heat against his knuckles. Lance shivers around him, but he’s still touching Shiro’s forearm, restlessly dragging his hands along the smooth metal to let Shiro know he’s doing okay, that he feels good.

“—Does that sound good, Captain?”

Shiro needs this meeting to be over like yesterday.

He rubs his left thumb over his lips, faking deep thought once more. Something, something... Vakarian’s asking for permission to tweak the safeguards, but he hasn’t run it by Slav or Hunk yet because Slav honestly terrifies him, which is a feeling Shiro can certainly sympathize with. At any rate, Vakarian had asked Iverson instead, and Iverson, always happy to share his bureaucratic misery with anything that will stand still long enough, had called this meeting. Right.

“As long as you’re monitoring the systems closely, I don’t see a problem,” Shiro says finally, proud of how steady his voice is. Lance feels so perfect around his fingers, and god, he desperately wants that tight heat around his cock, those breathy moans in his ear, his lips on flushed, dark skin. For now, all he can do is show Lance how worked up he’s getting, how badly he wants him, so he fucks him on his fingers harder just for the way his husband arches onto them, his nails sliding down the smooth inside of Shiro’s forearm. He clears his throat, then continues, “If it starts acting up, do you have a way to reverse the changes?”

“Of course,” Vakarian says, and to Shiro’s utter despair, he pulls up more figures.

God. Shiro grits his teeth slightly, then carefully spreads his fingers inside Lance. His husband’s thighs snap closed around Shiro’s wrist again, but before he can worry, Lance’s hand goes back to soothing up and down Shiro’s forearm, letting him know everything’s okay. 

He pauses to let Lance catch his breath, and once his thighs have relaxed, he starts steadily thrusting his fingers into him again, grinding them into him and rubbing his thumb over the soft, sensitive skin just above his entrance. His new fingers are thick enough that even just the two spread Lance open almost as much as his cock, and when he realizes that, he has to shift awkwardly in his seat and cross his legs. That same thought gives him an idea, though, something to work his husband up more, to bully him just a little for playing such perfect games. 

Shiro shifts his wrist, then buries his fingers deep again, keeping them straight this time but angling them up against Lance’s sweet spot. As he fucks his husband hard and slow, he hopes Lance catches his drift: ‘this could be me, this could be my cock inside you, but you made me go to this goddamn meeting and now I’m dying.’

He can feel his husband’s hips rocking into his even rhythm, can feel his soft hands squeezing his wrist encouragingly, his thighs spreading wide to give Shiro plenty of room. He can’t help but feel like Lance might be showing off just a little, just like he always does when he wants to get under Shiro’s skin.

“Have you run this past Holt yet?” Iverson butts in, his sudden, gruff voice making Shiro jump slightly. He recovers before anyone notices, then clears his throat and leans his chin in his palm, raising his eyebrows at Vakarian. 

“Er, which one?”

“Sam Holt,” Shiro clarifies, hoping desperately that he’s right and that he sounds like he has any fucking idea what’s going on. 

Vakarian rubs the side of his head, seeming almost embarrassed. “That’s the Holt that works down in systems engineering, right?” The others nod, and Vakarian shakes his head. “No, she’s been terribly busy for the past few days. I haven’t been able to catch her.” 

Allura squints at the engineer’s choice of pronouns, and Shiro has to bite down a frustrated groan. This brief tangent is just going to keep him away from his husband even longer. It doesn’t help that Lance has started absolutely _writhing_ for him, unable to keep still when he feels this good, when he has Shiro stuffed this deep inside of him.

“You’re thinking of Colleen Holt,” he explains, trying not to let his impatience make him snappy. “Sam Holt is her husband.”

“ _Oh._ Oh.” Vakarian clears his throat, shriveling once again. “No, I haven’t caught him either. I’ll talk to him before I make any changes.” Seemingly satisfied with that, Iverson nods and lets Vakarian go back to explaining his backup plans, and Shiro lets his attention drift back to the other room, moving his fingers faster to make up for the distracted hitch in his rhythm. 

Before long, Shiro can feel Lance squeezing tighter and tighter around him, bucking his hips up more urgently, his hands pulling on Shiro’s wrist, on his thumb to try and get him to go harder. Shiro could easily resist, but instead he lets Lance pull him into a faster rhythm, and the way his husband trembles and melts at that is so, so satisfying. He feels two gentle, clumsy taps on the inside of his wrist, Lance’s signal for when he’s about to come but can’t find the voice to say it, and for a brief moment, Shiro considers stopping, grinding his fingers deep just to be mean.

He doesn’t have it in him, though. Instead, he angles his fingers up and fucks him deeper, hitting him at a better angle, and after just a few seconds, he feels Lance clamp down on him, hips arching off the bed, every part of his beautiful body absolutely _quaking_ with the force of his orgasm.

Shiro works him through it, drawing out his pleasure as much as he can before he brings him back down slow and gentle, until Lance collapses against the sheets and shivers. He keeps still inside him for a moment longer before he eases his fingers out, then drags them up to Lance’s stomach, his hot skin slick with come and sweat. God, Shiro wants to be in there so badly, wants to clean up Lance’s finish with his tongue, then roll him over and give him the real thing. 

Unfortunately, he senses an expectant lull in Vakarian’s report. Shiro gets himself together and nods. “Alright, you have my permission, but don’t forget to tell Hunk first. He gets cranky.” Silently, Shiro prays that Hunk has enough of his brain left after Slav’s done with him to look at Vakarian’s plan with a less distracted eye than Shiro’s. 

With Shiro’s blessing, Vakarian puts away his datapad and stands, thanking Shiro for his time before following Iverson out of the room, apparently not bothered by the giant yawn Iverson lets out as they leave. 

Allura sticks around, though, looking Shiro over thoughtfully. As much as Shiro would like to be done here, he always has time for Allura, so he leans forward on his knee and raises his eyebrows in question. In the other room, he keeps idly petting Lance’s stomach as he catches his breath, the warm metal gentle on his husband’s dark skin. “Everything alright?”

She purses her lips, then gets right to the point. “Are you having trouble with your new arm?” So blunt, but Shiro certainly appreciates her straightforwardness in this situation.

He smiles reassuringly, reaching out to pat her shoulder. “It’s perfect, Allura. Just gets more perfect every day. I can’t thank you enough.”

She relaxes slightly, leaning into his touch, but after a moment she squints suspiciously. “Where is it, then? Is it really making you a sandwich?”

Shiro barks a laugh, hoping she doesn’t pick up on his nervousness. “No, but I wasn’t kidding. That’s a great idea.” He smiles again, but she refuses to be distracted. It’s not like he can tell her the truth, though. He’d probably die of embarrassment first. “Seriously, it’s amazing. I’m just kinda tired. Taking it easy, you know.”

In the other room, Lance seems to have recovered. He wraps his fingers around Shiro’s wrist, tugging gently. Shiro relaxes his connection with the arm, letting Lance pull his hand up, but before he can get too curious, there’s a soft, wet heat around the tip of his thumb. 

Oh. He can already feel his ears flushing bright red.

Lance sighs, nibbling gently before wrapping his lips around Shiro’s thumb. He laves his tongue over it, then takes it deeper, working his tongue against it and sucking enticingly, and good _lord_ Shiro can feel everything like he’s right there. He chokes a little and tries to hide it in an awkward cough, but it’s not very convincing.

Allura, who has always been too damn smart for her own good, blinks a few times before she gives him an extremely unimpressed look. 

“I see,” she says flatly, and god, Shiro wants to crawl under the couch and die. She’s badly hiding a smile, though, and he really can’t decide if that helps or not. “Well, I’ll leave you to your ‘taking it easy,’” she continues before standing and gracefully moving to the door. 

In an effort to sound somewhat normal, Shiro blurts, “Goodnight, Princess.”

The smile Allura gives him when she looks back at him is downright _menacing._ The kind of smile that could only mean ‘I know why you were so distracted and I’m never going to let you live it down.’ Shiro swallows heavily, trying so hard not to be even more distracted by the ongoing feeling of Lance’s mouth around his thumb.

“Goodnight, Shiro,” she hums smugly. She goes to leave, but just before the door closes, she turns toward him again. “Oh, give Lance my regards, won’t you?”

The door slides shut between them before Shiro can reply beyond opening his mouth dumbly. He lets his head drop, dragging his hand through his hair. Rather than wallow in his embarrassment, though, he moves to lock the door to his quarters, then crosses the room to their bedroom in a few quick strides.

Inside the room, Lance looks so gorgeous sprawled lazily across the sheets, his come smeared across his stomach from Shiro’s petting, his flushed lips quirking into a crooked grin as he lets Shiro’s thumb slip out of his mouth. 

“Hey, you,” he has the audacity to say, his voice all breathless and fucked out. “How was your meeting?”

Shiro grumbles, then climbs onto the bed, asserting himself between Lance’s spread thighs. He shifts his new arm back where it belongs before ducking to catch Lance’s lips, dragging him into a deep, needy kiss, at which his husband breathes a pleased hum, burying his own hands in soft white hair.

“You’re a menace,” Shiro huffs, nipping playfully at Lance’s lips.

“Who, me?” Lance giggles, and he looks so relaxed, so beautiful Shiro can’t help but smile, his already feeble mask of grumpiness falling away entirely. “I don’t know what you mean.” Rather than respond, Shiro breathes a low, rumbling groan and nuzzles into Lance’s throat, sucking a mark against his pulse, which has his pretty husband arching up against him, his hands squeezing Shiro’s broad shoulders encouragingly. 

For the rest of the night, Shiro enthusiastically shows him exactly what his little game did to him, until Lance’s thighs are shaking so badly they can’t support him anymore and his voice is hoarse from wailing his husband’s name.

**Author's Note:**

> i have a [tumblr](http://avoidingavoidance.tumblr.com) and a [twittr](http://twitter.com/gaarbage)
> 
> i laughed gleefully the ENTIRE time i wrote this, also how has it taken me this long to make unnecessary mass effect references in my voltron fics??


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